


powerless

by geborgenheit



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, For the most part, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 14:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16307024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geborgenheit/pseuds/geborgenheit
Summary: Minho goes on tour.Minho misses Jisung a lot.





	powerless

Minho was sitting on one of the chairs inside their waiting room, trying to catch his breath. They had just finished performing one of their _hardest_ dance routines, and everyone was tired and dehydrated and Minho really just wanted to plop down on his bed face first. But there were still about five more routines left to be performed, and after performing he would need to head to practice, anyway. There wasn’t much time for anything else.

It wasn’t that Minho wasn’t thankful for the opportunity. He was aware that not nearly everyone got to do what they loved, and that he was one of those lucky few who got to do what they were passionate about. Of course Minho was _very much_ thankful for being able to dance in front of a lot of people, even though these people didn’t really know him, didn’t come to see him, heck, they probably didn’t even notice him. Even when the one person who had always been there to support him wasn’t even there to see him on stage.

Minho felt his head starting to spin from exhaustion, from the lack of sleep, from not eating more than he burned off, from not drinking enough water. But this wasn’t the time, he thought, this wasn’t the time to fall apart. He could do it later, during what _free time_ the back-up dancers were allowed after the concert; he would go to his shared room with five other people after taking a quick shower, climb up his top bunk, curl into himself while pulling the covers up over his head, and fall asleep staring at his boyfriend’s picture, most of the time with tears in his eyes.

 _Ex-boyfriend_ , he corrected himself.

“Dude, you okay?” one of the other dancers, Hwang Hyunjin, asked him, worry clearly written on his face. He was one of the few people Minho had actually become friends with.

If Minho were to be honest, the attraction was very, _very_ palpable between the two of them at first. They had fooled around a couple times, too; Hyunjin’s lips were soft and plump, really nice to look at, but nicer to feel against Minho’s own thinner ones, even against his neck, cheeks, and jaw. Yes, them fooling around had made Minho feel a little better, but that was all it was: fooling around, sexual attraction, but at least it had developed into something resembling a genuine kind of friendship. Soon, fooling around had turned into just talking, sharing worries, occasionally Minho crying in the younger boy’s arms, and even more occasional, a light kiss here and there. But no matter how nice and comforting Hyunjin’s lips were, there was still a specific pair that Minho wanted to taste every night.

“I’m okay,” Minho assured his friend. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Here,” the younger handed him a bottle of water. “We’re up in five.”

Minho downed the contents of the bottle. The action was too familiar for his liking, remembering all the different, less hydrating contents in bottles he had downed in an attempt to drown feelings of uncertainty, of wanting to forget a certain smile that bared teeth and gums and radiated light and positive energy.

God, he missed him so much.

***

When Minho got back that night to the small hotel room he was assigned to sleep in, he immediately plopped down on his top bunk just like he wanted to earlier that day. He was tired, to say the least. He was tired in almost every aspect, he thought, physically, emotionally, mentally. He wanted nothing more than just to pass out, but he can’t. He needed to practice. So he just took a few deep breaths and pushed himself up on the bed and climbed down his bunk.

He automatically went searching for the roof deck; he had found that almost all hotels had roof decks, which made great venues for practicing and letting out pent up rage.

Earlier, during the second to the last performance, Minho had made a slight mistake in the way he raised his arms; it was small, unnoticeable, really, but of course Minho beat himself up for it, even though no one really pointed it out and nobody probably cared.

Nights like these when he felt like things got a little too much for him to handle were the nights when Minho wished the most that he was back home, safe and warm and cuddled up against the one person he loved and he knew loved him just as much, if not more.

Minho breathed in the cold, night air. He felt like the world was going around too fast; more than half of the tour was done, almost three months have passed.

Almost three months have passed since he had last seen Han Jisung.

Usually when things got too much, there was only one person Minho wanted to see, only one person who could make the world slow down. But he wasn’t here now.

Minho placed the small light-blue bluetooth speaker he had brought with him down on the railing. It had been a gift from someone he didn’t deserve. He shook his head quite violently; now wasn’t the time to be nostalgic. He pulled out his phone to play the song he wanted— _needed_ , he told himself—to practice. Except he didn’t play the song, he couldn’t. Now wasn’t the time to be nostalgic, but really, was there ever really an exact time? He found himself opening the _Message App_ , fingers typing out words that were now all too familiar he didn’t even need to look at the screen, thumb hovering over the _Send_ button.

 _‘I miss you so much.’_ the message read.

Every night, Minho typed the words out. Every night ever since they had broken up, he contemplated sending it. Yet he didn’t; he never did. He had always ended up deleting the words and closing the app, putting his phone down with the screen facing downwards. That was what he was doing now.

Minho missed Jisung so fucking much and he wanted nothing else but to tell him how much his absence pained him, but he was enough of a decent person to know how unfair sending that message would be, considering he was the one who had chosen to end everything. He had already been too unfair.

Three months ago, when Minho and Jisung were just watching a movie, cuddled up on the couch like they had been doing for the past three years, Minho had casually broken out the news that he was touring with a well-known korean boy group as a backup dancer. Jisung had audibly gasped, surely excited about the great news, but Minho was an asshole and he had decided to break the bad news at the exact same time Jisung had probably been about to say his congratulations.

“I wanna break up,” Minho had said.

“I—what?” Jisung had stammered, his voice painfully falling.

“I wanna break up.”

“Why?”

“Because it will be unfair.”

“Why would it be unfair?”

“Because I won’t be here for a long time. I won’t be able to focus on us. That would be unfair for you.”

“I don’t mind, Minho. You know I don’t.”

“But I do. I mind, Jisung. I don’t wanna go there and just think about wanting to get back home. This is my shot, Jisung. Probably my _only one_.”

“Oh,” the other had said softly, realization dawning on him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Jisung,” Minho had the decency to add.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

At that time, Minho had thought that Jisung had realized how unfair it was for the younger, being in a relationship with someone who wasn’t really going to be physically and emotionally available for a long time. He had thought that  _that_ was why Jisung said it was okay, and that he understood why Minho had wanted to break up. Now, though, Minho knew what Jisung had realized; he now understood why Jisung had let him go: because Jisung knew how much Minho had wanted _this_ , how long he had dreamed of finally being able to showcase his talent.

Minho now realized that Jisung knew just how selfish he was.

That same day, after Jisung had agreed to break up, Minho had still been too self-absorbed; he stayed in the same spot, cuddled up beside his ex-boyfriend who still had his arms around him. Minho now knew that by doing that, asking to cuddle and having the younger stroke his hair after having just broken up with him, he had already been too unfair.

Minho was selfish like that.

Later on, sometime in the middle of watching the movie, Minho had fallen asleep with his head on the younger’s lap. He had stirred a little when he felt the younger’s fingers stop threading themselves in his soft brown hair.

“I love you so much,” he had heard Jisung whisper with a crack in his voice.

Jisung was selfless like that.

The next day, the day Minho had left their shared apartment and he had to fly for the tour, Jisung had seen him out the door, even helping him carry all his stuff to the cab that was waiting outside. If Minho had noticed how puffy and red the younger’s eyes were that morning, he didn’t say anything.

That was the last time he had seen Han Jisung.

Minho was okay for the first few days, weeks even, until one day he just... _wasn’t_. One day he just broke down out of sadness and frustration and insecurity. One day it really hit him too hard that no one was there to cheer him up anymore, no one was there to tell him he was doing great, no one was there to listen to all his stupid stories. He was sad, and he knew he was sad for all the selfish reasons.

“Fuck!” he screamed into the night. “Fuck you, Lee Minho!”

Tears were streaming down his face now. He just let them flow, not bothering to wipe them away. He tasted the saltiness, felt the hot tears drip down onto the collar of his shirt—Jisung’s shirt. He wanted to rip it off, throw it away down from the side of the roof deck. But he also wanted to never take it off, keep it close to his body and remember how the younger had used to wrap his arms around Minho whenever he wanted.

“You know, if you miss him that bad, why don’t you just go back?” Hyunjin suddenly appeared and started walking towards Minho.

Minho wiped at his eyes aggressively, trying to remove the tear stains. Even though he had definitely cried and broken down more than once in front of Hyunjin, he still hated being a mess in front of anyone but Jisung.

Minho knew the answer to Hyunjin’s question, though: _Because I’m selfish and proud_. But he didn’t want to admit it to anyone just yet so instead he said, “Because it’s unfair.” It was what he had always said, anyway.

Hyunjin scoffed at the answer. “Don’t you think you’re already being unfair right now?” he asked Minho as he moved to sit down on the cold cement floor of the roof deck. He tapped the space beside him lightly, indicating for the older to sit down as well. And so Minho did.

Minho wasn’t sure why he let Hyunjin treat him that way, why he let him talk to him like that and ask him questions even Jisung didn’t dare to ask. Maybe because they were both here for the same reason, under the same consequences. Hyunjin was also sad; he had also left someone behind, made sacrifices, except it was the other way around; Hyunjin didn’t want to break up, but Kim Seungmin did.

Kim Seungmin, a name Minho had only really heard from Hyunjin’s stories, had wanted Hyunjin to achieve his dreams, claiming Hyunjin had too much potential to let it all go to waste. And since Kim Seungmin had already made up his mind, what else could Hyunjin have done? And so he went here. And now here they were, being miserable together. But at least Hyunjin was stronger than Minho; either _that_ , or he was just a lot better at hiding his emotions.

Maybe Hyunjin actually understood Minho a little too much.

“Do you ever miss him?” Minho asked the younger.

“Everyday,” Hyunjin answered. “I miss him everyday.”

“Why don’t _you_ go back, then?”

“Because he wouldn’t want that.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because, Minho, he’d feel guilty if I suddenly go back without achieving anything. He’d feel like his sacrifice had gone to waste, like our breakup was pointless—which I still think it is—but I don’t want Seungmin to feel like that.”

Minho realized then: Hyunjin wasn’t selfish like him. Hyunjin wanted to come back to his ex-boyfriend, but he wanted to come back with something to make the other feel better. Minho wanted to come back to Jisung because he knew there was nothing for him here.

“The tour’s almost over,” Hyunjin said again after a while. He placed a hand on Minho’s thigh and offered him a smile. “Just bear for a few more weeks, yeah?”

Minho just groaned in response. He didn’t really have a choice, did he?

“Let’s go,” Hyunjin stood and pulled the older up with him. “We gotta at least get some sleep. Training’s gonna start again tomorrow.”

***

Time really did fly by so fast, didn’t it?

All of a sudden, it was the last day of tour, the last performance, and Minho found himself being wrapped in Hyunjin’s arms as the younger laughed and jumped up and down in joy. Minho let himself be carried away, thankful for the warmth and momentary burst of happiness.

The tour had finally come to and end.

Minho could finally go home.

Except there was no _home_ to come home to. Not anymore.

***

It was late in the afternoon when Minho had finally landed back in South Korea. He guessed it was almost around five, which justified the hunger he felt.

“You could stay at my place,” Hyunjin graciously offered. Minho declined the offer, though.

“I wanna go see him, Hyunjin,” Minho answered.

“Well, if you need a place, you have my number.”

With that, they bid each other goodbye and promised to keep in touch. Minho watched the younger walk towards a group of three people. The two seemed to be his parents, while the other boy, who looked about the same age as Hyunjin and was almost the same height but slightly thinner, Minho assumed was Kim Seungmin.

Minho bid farewell to the other dancers as well, and waved at his friend one last time before getting inside his hailed cab, immediately dozing off as soon as he’d said where to take him.

When Minho woke up, they had almost reached his destination, and it was almost seven in the evening, and he had to fight back the urge to fall back to sleep. A few minutes later and he was out of the cab and standing outside a small apartment complex. He still remembered everything: the small laundry shop on the very first floor, the convenience store to its right, and the cozy cafe to its left. And that was where Minho saw him.

Minho’s face lit up at the sight of the boy he missed oh, so fucking much through the glass windows of the small cafe. He was sitting down on one of the small couches beside the window, a cup of coffee and an empty plate of probably cheesecake on the table in front. A smile made its way onto Minho’s face, only to turn into a frown as he saw the _other_ boy, the one with blond hair who just arrived and sat down in front of Jisung. Minho’s lips parted in shock and confusion and hurt. Who was this guy, smiling at the love of his life like it was nobody’s damn business?

Why did Jisung look happy around this guy?

Why did Jisung’s eyes sparkle as he looked up at the boy? Why did he let the boy take his hands and pull him up and outside the cafe—?

“Minho?” Jisung’s eyes were wide open, his eyebrows up in his forehead.

“Hey,” Minho greeted awkwardly, eyes traveling to Jisung’s entwined hand with the unnamed boy. Jisung must have noticed because he immediately pulled his hand away from the boy beside him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Minho.

“I need a place to stay for a while.”

“Oh.”

They would have stood there in awkward silence for much longer if it weren’t for the blond haired boy clearing his throat and finally speaking.

“Hey, you must be Lee Minho,” he said, stretching out his hand for Minho to shake. “Lee Felix, Jisung’s housemate.”

Minho didn’t even register it at first, and it took him a second too long before he actually shook the other boy’s hand. “Oh,” he said. “Hey.”

So this boy—Felix—lived in the same house as Jisung? Minho’s Jisung? No. That shouldn’t be, right? It should be Minho living in the same house with Jisung? Right?

_No._

Of course not.

Minho left. He didn’t have any right to decide who got to live with Jisung anymore.

“Let’s go up, then,” Felix cheerfully announced. If he knew who Minho was and what his connection to Jisung was, he didn’t let it show. “I’ll help you carry your stuff.”

“Thanks.”

***

When the three of them had gone up and into Jisung’s now-shared apartment with Felix, he immediately announced that he was going to prepare dinner and that Minho and Felix should make themselves comfortable on the couch.

Minho tried, at least.

Everything else felt so normal, so familiar, except for the blond boy sitting beside him on the couch and flipping through channels on the TV.

Minho cleared his throat subtly. “So,” he started, “you’ve been living here since…?”

“About three months,” answered the boy— _Felix_ , Minho corrected himself, _his name’s Felix_.

“I see.”

“Jisung and I are classmates, you know?” he continued, although Minho didn’t really ask and didn’t really seem interested in what he and Jisung were. But he let him continue, anyway. “One day it just slipped my mouth that I needed a new place, and then he offered. Helps pay the bills when there’s two people paying, I guess.”

Minho wanted to ask if there was anything _more_ , if Felix and Jisung were more than just classmates or housemates or whatever the fuck they were, but he stopped himself. He didn’t have any right to put his nose in Jisung’s business anymore. So instead he just sat there, staring at the TV but not really paying attention as Felix blabbered on about god-knows-what. As if Minho even cared.

Dinner went by fast and surprisingly not too awkward. Jisung was still very nice and decent, and he had asked Minho how he had been doing and how the tour was, and if the people treated him nicely, and if he was going on another tour soon. Of course Minho had answered with all the generic bullshit he could possibly think of, leaving out the parts where he was definitely not okay and he cried himself to sleep almost every night, aching for Jisung.

After dinner, Minho excused himself to go to the balcony, saying he needed a breath of fresh air. And so he got up from the table and made his way out the door on the far right side, but not before taking out three bottles of soju that he knew were sitting in the chiller of Jisung’s fridge.

Minho had already downed out one and a half bottles of alcohol when he noticed Jisung join him in the balcony, sitting down beside him on the small bench.

“Don’t drink too much,” he told Minho as he took the last unopened bottle away from Minho’s reach. Minho thought he was going to drink it, just like he normally would whenever he found Minho drinking alone. But tonight Jisung didn’t. And Minho just laughed at himself, at how pathetic he seemed.

“If you’re not gonna drink that,” Minho answered, “might as well let me.”

“No. You should be resting. I’ll put this back in the fridge.”

Jisung stood up but before he even had the chance to walk back inside and leave him alone again, Minho grabbed his wrist and pulled him back on the seat.

“Are you happy?” Minho asked, voice barely a whisper. He was looking down at his hands, hands that felt empty and cold in the absence of Jisung’s touch.

“Is that a fucking joke, Minho?” Jisung scoffed.

“No.”

“No.”

“ _No_?”

“No, Minho. I’m not happy. But that doesn’t matter. What about you, are you happy? Why are you back so soon?”

Minho didn’t answer. He used to be happy with his decision, he really did. He was able to do what he wanted, what he had always dreamed of since he was a child and no one ever believed in him until Jisung arrived. But now... he wasn't all that happy. He was miserable. He wanted Jisung to know that. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning in and pressing his lips against Jisung’s in a soft kiss, but he didn’t kiss back.

_Jisung didn’t kiss back._

“Stop,” Jisung said, turning his face away from Minho’s lips. He pushed the older off him and held him by the shoulders an arm’s length away. “Minho, are you drunk?”

“Don’t you love me anymore?” Minho asked.

“I—.”

“You don’t have to lie, Jisung. I saw you with that boy earlier.”

“Felix? Minho, he’s just a friend—.”

“We started off as friends.”

“We did, but that’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the point, Jisung? What’s the fucking point?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, Jisung, answer me—.”

“Don’t you think you’re _not_ in any position to demand answers, Minho?”

Minho was taken aback by the sudden question. He stared at the boy in front of him. Jisung didn’t even shout, he didn’t even look angry, he just looked… _tired_. And Jisung was right, Minho thought; he wasn’t in any position to demand anything; he was the one who left, after all. He felt his throat tighten, a lump forming there, and he felt tears stinging the back of his eyes, threatening to fall.

Jisung sighed. “It’s late,” he said. “You should sleep. You can sleep on my bed; Felix is using the other room. I’ll sleep on the couch. Tell me when you need anything.”

With that, Jisung had taken his hands off of Minho’s shoulders and stood up, leaving Minho alone in the balcony. And Minho barely registered how Jisung had said _‘my bed’_ instead of _‘our bed_ , _’_ just like it once had been.

***

Minho woke up in the middle of the night. It was a familiar feeling, waking in _the exact_ _same_ bed he used to wake up in—except this time, a pair of arms and legs, body heat emanating from someone else, and soft lips breathing out warm air onto his bare neck were missing. Minho had to suppress the tears. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to get back to sleep. He was tired and exhausted and sad, and he knew he needed to rest, but he just couldn’t.Taking a deep breath before standing up, he made his way to the kitchen to grab some water. Surely that would help him relax a bit, that was what Jisung had always done when cuddles and kisses weren’t enough.

On his way to get his glass of water, Minho passed by the couch where a sleeping Jisung was lying down, curled up into himself, hugging a pillow close to his chest. Minho almost cried then and there. Jisung looked so small and delicate; how had Minho ever thought about leaving this boy who owned his entire heart?

Minho found himself walking towards Jisung, the person he had longed for all those months while he was in other people’s arms, being peppered with other people’s adoring kisses. He sat on the floor in front of the couch, facing the younger; he pushed the hair out of Jisung’s eyes and brushed it back to leave a gentle kiss on the younger’s forehead.

“Minho?” Jisung stirred; his voice was low and raspy, painfully and awfully familiar to Minho’s ears. “Are you crying? Hey, why are you crying?”

Jisung sat up, his brows furrowed in worry. He brought his hands up to cup the older’s tear streaked face, caressing his cheekbones with his thumb, and Minho’s salty tears just came out faster and harder. It was so painful, how much he missed Jisung’s warm touch, how much his heart ached just to feel those warm fingertips against his skin.

“I love you,” Minho whispered as he closed his eyes and basked in the familiarity of the situation. “I miss you so much, Jisung. I’m so sorry—.”

Jisung suddenly pulled his face close, crashing their lips together in a long, much-awaited kiss. Minho kissed back immediately, tears still streaming down his face, now kneeling so he was level with Jisung who was sitting on the couch.

The kiss quickly turned into something more heated, more needy and fervent, and Minho placed his hands on the younger’s thighs, making their way upwards, eliciting whimpers that made him bite down on the softest pair of lips he had ever kissed. He brought his hands to the back of Jisung’s thighs and lifted him up, letting him wrap both his legs around his torso as he walked back inside _their_ room. He sat down on the bed with Jisung still straddling him, leaving wet kisses on his jaw, licking and sucking down his neck just like he used to before Minho fucked everything up.

“I miss you, too,” Jisung whispered in between hot, hasty kisses. Minho felt the younger’s breath on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. “I miss you so fucking much, Minho, you have no idea, but—.”

Minho pressed his lips against the younger’s; he didn’t want to hear what Jisung was going to say, he didn’t think he could stand to hear them. He slid his hands under the younger’s shirt, letting them roam around the familiar skin of Jisung’s upper body, grazing his fingertips a bit too harshly he was sure they were going to leave marks. He didn’t care, though, not when Jisung was squirming under his touch, gasping for breath and moaning out his name softly.

“Do you love me?” Minho pulled back just enough to look into the younger’s hazy eyes that sparkled with unshed tears. “Do you still love me, Jisung?”

“Yes, Minho,” Jisung breathed out. “I always will.”

Tonight, that was enough for Minho.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> [talk to me](https://www.curiouscat.me/straychz) if u want maybe


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